


Boy Problems

by fw_feathers (mia826)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: ADHD, Anxiety Attacks, Disabled Character/s, Gen, Racism, and not the metaphorical x-men kind, but Christ I am so done with this thing, movie-based characterization, so many teenagers, teenagers crushing on their profs, this was supposed to be about crushes and it turned into a word barf about racism, why is this my life, word barf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia826/pseuds/fw_feathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have a crush. It’s terrible. I have a crush on my drop dead gorgeous hunk of a prof, who’s so out of my league I might as well blow myself sky high to even get a hope of catching his eye. And if you thought that was bad, it gets even worse.</p><p>The professor I’m talking about? He can read minds.<br/>------------</p><p>Let’s pretend this was written for Self-Insert Week weeks ago, and not because I saw X-men: Apocalypse and once again died inside from James McAvoy’s gorgeous blue eyes and Charles Xavier suffering. I want to wrap the man in a comforter and shove hot chocolate and marshmallows at his face, dammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This got way longer than I expected it to. Way, waaaay longer. ( _15,000 words. Christ._ To think I had even _more_ planned for after. _Never mind._ ) This is unbeta'd, and while it's technically resolved there was supposed to be more after. But I can't write it anymore. Summer school has started, and trying to write the true ending feels like slugging through muck. I might add it on some other time. We'll see.
> 
> This entire work is a complete mess, so I hope you don't judge my writing by it. I'm just uploading it because I don't want to waste two weeks' worth of nonstop writing. _Christ._
> 
> Disclaimer: Clara's experiences with racism is based on research mixed with bullying, of the middle-school and teenager kind. Seeing as I live in my native country, I have never actually experienced racism against me. 
> 
> tw for anxiety/panic attack. Skip from "I'm going to kill them!" to "Come out, Clara."
> 
> Comments, complaints, contradictions, and suggestions are very welcome!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go down.

 

I have a crush. It’s terrible.

_Tossing about,_

I have a crush on my drop dead gorgeous hunk of a prof, who’s so out of my league I might as well blow myself sky high to even get a hope of catching his eye. And if you thought _that_ was bad, it gets even worse.

_she increased her feverish bewilderment to madness,_

The professor I’m talking about? He can read minds.

_and tore the pillow with her teeth;_

Every day, as I sit in his class, I ask myself one question:

_then raising herself up all burning-_

How can I escape this now?!

“Clara.” A low, clear voice broke through my thoughts, making me jump and almost drop my book. The reproachful tone let me know that that was not the first time I had been called. I kept my eyes down, feeling my embarrassment travel from the base of my neck to the roots of my hair. I was not born with the ability to blush, but I was, unfortunately, born with the ability to let people know exactly how I was feeling at the moment. If they knew how to look. I could hear Jubilee giggling to my right, while Frederick to my left was obviously staring. Again.

I could hear the smile in Professor Xavier’s voice even as I refused to look him in the face. “While I do appreciate your initiative in reading the book in advance-” Jubilee’s giggles stopped. _Yeah, that’s right Giggles, I’m advanced in your favorite class. Suck it._ “-I would prefer it if you didn’t do it in class.”

Shame made me hunch down, my book rising to cover my face before I could stop it. “Yes, Professor.” _I wouldn’t have to do it in class if it wasn’t for your stupid, pr-_

_marshmallowsbutterfliesgodIhateWutheringHeights god these people need to take a chill pill so bad_

_-face!_ I thought furiously.

Because I absolutely could not – _would not_ – look at my professor’s pret-

_Wuthering Heights!_

-gorgeo-

_HEATHCLIFF_

- _blue_ eyes, I had the best view of the way his hand stilled momentarily on his wheelchair.

The problem with thoughts is that there is no way to control them. Literally _no way._ Just the fact that you try to do everything _but_ think of an elephant would let any telepath know you’re trying not to think of that elephant. I think. Not like I ever asked one. I only knew two, and one of them was my professor. The other was possibly the most admired and/or intimidating person on the entire campus, not including The Hero Mystique (capitalized letters standard and required, according to Amy), and obviously still way out of my league. In a different way.

Horror crashed through me, followed by panic, and immediate regret, and probably a mantra of _ohgodsorrysorrysorryIdidn’tmeanitthatway,_ before I shut my eyes and did my best to think of _fairies_ and _marshmallows_ and an attempted mental reconstruction of Heathcliffe’s house. I could feel my heartbeat kicking up, so I turned my focus instead on what I could do the moment I got out of class. I could hear the professor talking again, so I did my best to drown it out.

“Here, we can see the two sides of love as Emily Bronte portrayed it.”

_When I get out of here, I’m going to hunt down Carter and Amy-_

“On one hand, Catherine loves Edgar for his material wealth and genteel personality.”

_And I’ll drag them to the gardens by the tree near the pond-_

“On the other hand, Catherine loves Heathcliff, in the more traditional definition of love, filled with passion and an empathy that makes them feel like one soul…”

_And we can spend the rest of lunch break whining about class-_

The bell rang, saving me from more embarrassment and possibly hurting the feelings of my- my professor even more. The small room with its informal seats and bookshelves filled with the sound of chairs scraping and students gathering their things. Professor Xavier raised his voice to be heard over the noise, the smile in his tone back. _Thank God._ Finally freed from just hiding my face behind my book, I shoved my things into my bag and scrambled for the door.

“-and Clara,” I froze. “Please prepare a short summary of chapters ten to eleven to share with your classmates next meeting. The results of such dedication are something that should be shared.”

His voice didn’t sound any different. There was that ever-present touch of softness, as if he was sharing kindness wherever he went, and the hint of a gentle smile. Occasionally, that gentle smile would change to the sharper bite of wit, like the sound of a sense of humor blooming from hidden depths. God, I needed something better to do with my life than wax poetic about _voices_ of all things.

“Yes, Professor,” I gasped, and fled, before I could think up anything worse. _Blooming!_ Who the heck described a sense of humor as _blooming?_

* * *

 

I found Carter and Amy already waiting for me under the willow trees near our old hangout. Our old hangout was, sadly, split in half and burnt to a crisp, thanks to one of the new arrivals last week. We weren’t really that perturbed. Explosions were a regular occurrence in the Xavier Academy for the Gifted, especially considering that spectacular one that brought down the whole building – which also happened last week.

A lot of things happened last week.

Amy was already grinning at me from across the green, her lopsided headphones telling me just how long they had been waiting for me. She had probably dragged Carter out here the moment their class ended, freed one ear, and set about eavesdropping on as much of my class that she could. Sure enough, Carter’s pout grew more evident the closer I got to them.

Amy slipped her headphones back on the moment I sat down with them. Amy was smart. She waited until I had loosed my hair from its tight bun and melted with a sigh before she brought out her ammo. She waggled her thin brown eyebrows at me. “Clara,” she said, deepening her voice as low as it could go. “While I do appreciate your initiative in reading the book in advance, I would prefer it if you took your daydreams about my glorious arse and take it-”

I caught the shriek in my throat just in time, releasing something closer to a squeak, and shoved Amy into the grass before she could finish that sentence. Amy is never allowed to finish her sentences. I don’t know where she gets her ideas, but it’s definitely _not_ from somewhere any self-respecting Christian woman would be caught red-handed with.

Amy just burst out laughing. I regretted my decision to hold back the shriek. She deserved every headache she would get.

“Your accent is terrible,” Carter said, his pout turning mulish. I shoved Amy again, trying to get her to stop, but she just rolled over to her back on the grass and laughed harder.

“It’s not funny!” I wailed. “It wasn’t funny the first time, and it definitely isn’t funny now!”

Carter tilted his head, his green eyes sharpening as he focused on me. “What’s wrong?” he asked, the pout falling away as it was overtaken with concern.

Amy snickered, finally getting over her fit of manic laughter. “I bet she almost got caught thinking of the professor in his nighties.”

I wanted to burn out my eye sockets with acid.

Carter turned an unimpressed look at Amy. After a whole year in her company, it was a rare day that he got scandalized by her anymore. “Her hair is streaked with purple,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s usually only bright red after her lit class.”

Amy’s face cleared, her eyes also roving across my head. “Oh yeah.”

Some mutants get cool, superhuman powers. Some get the ability to change their form; to read minds; to shoot laserbeams out of their eyes. Amy gets superhearing. Carter gets to read objects. Me? I get to change my hair color.

I covered my face with my hands and groaned. “I think I hurt his feelings,” I admitted, finally letting myself wallow in my misery. I could feel the crawling sensation that meant my hair was changing again, drooping into straight, muddy blue strands, if Carter’s catalogue of my mood-dependent hair color was correct.

“Sea blue streaked with eminence,” Carter said, giving me an awkward pat on the shoulder.

“That sounds like a punk band,” Amy noted. I raised my head a little.

“Is that a good thing?” I asked, my voice tiny.

“Nope,” she said, as blunt as ever. “You look like you crashed into the pond and came out covered in algae.”

I put my face back in my hands.

Carter sighed. “Alright, what happened?” he said, looking resigned to another afternoon of me pining after Professor Charles X. Xavier, PhD.

“I was doing that thing where I was trying to keep him from reading my mind by distracting myself,” I explained, uncovering my face just enough to be able to speak clearly. “Which we have never confirmed to work or not,” I added, shooting Amy a glare. She grinned right back, the pop-fiction-loving hag. “I think I ended up saying his face was stupid. I saw him freeze for a moment. He definitely heard me!” My voice rose. “He probably thinks I hate him now. It’s _awful._ ” I pressed my hands into my face again. “ _Awful!_ ”

“Maybe you just _imagined_ him freezing,” Carter suggested, his expression a mixture of pained and concerned. He rubbed a pale hand against the side of his nose, looking for all the world like a put-upon babysitter.

I shot him a venomous look. “Maybe our headmaster can’t read minds,” I retorted.

“Okay, okay, enough!” Amy held out her hands to both of us, stopping us before we could start a fight. We backed down, though Carter still had a stubborn light in his eyes. I felt embarrassment crawling up the back of my neck again. I glanced over my shoulder. A deep pink had joined the thinning purple and the still-present murky blue.

“Magenta,” Carter muttered, following my gaze.

“Thanks.” I tucked a few strands behind my ear, avoiding his hurt look.

“I still can’t believe you memorized a color dictionary just for that,” Amy said, resting her head on one hand.

“She asked,” was Carter’s reply. I felt my stomach sink. Sometimes I didn’t know if I deserved Carter enough or if I wanted to chuck him all the way to China. He was sharp, and had little to no patience for anyone’s bullshit. But you couldn’t find anyone more loyal to the people they cared about. A few weeks into our acquaintanceship, I had mentioned being curious about what color my hair turned into depending on my mood. A week later, after having apparently scoured the school’s extensive library, he showed up at our lunch table with a book thick enough to knock someone unconscious, and with it, every shade of color currently known to man. Unlike me, he was gifted with a good memory, so he helped me update a journal cataloguing my colors at the end of every day.

Carter. Scoured the library. For a week. Carter, who refused to touch anything that wasn’t his, and had his own utensils and plate (that he washed himself!) reserved for him during meals.

I hope he didn’t really memorize it. That would only make me feel worse.

Amy rolled her eyes but didn’t push it. “Back to the subject then.” She turned her gaze on me, brown as bronze and just as hard. “I keep telling you, if you’re so worried about whether your mind tricks work or not, you should ask the only other telepath we have on campus!”

I froze, my jaw dropping open in horror. A shiver ran up my spine. Carter’s contribution of “Sunflower and scarlet,” didn’t help at all. “I can’t talk to her!” I hissed. “She’s _Jean Grey!_ ” Instinct made me look left and right for the person in question, though the only people nearby were some kids playing with paper boats by the pond.

“And so?” Amy countered, her eyebrows rising. “She’s just a kid like any of us. Heck, she’s only a couple of years older than _you._ ”

I brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, absently noting the shifting color. The red had darkened, and was starting to look a bit more like brown. According to Carter, it should be headed towards mocha, my color at my most stubborn. I banished my thoughts with a shake of my head. There were downsides to hating tying my hair up. I got distracted so _easily._ “She’s practically the strongest mutant on campus! She helped rebuild the school with _Magneto!_ ” I pressed my hands over my temples, even as I listed the Top Five Reasons Not to Talk to Jean Grey. “She helped save the professor in Egypt! She’s studying personally under the professor _and_ The Hero!” I shoved a finger in Amy’s direction. “ _Your_ hero.”

“Like she isn’t your hero too,” Amy shot back. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you trying to copy her hair in the morning. You just chicken out all the time.” She paused, then added, “Like _now._ ”

I jerked back, grimacing. “I’m _not_ chicken. I’m- _practical._ ”

Amy raised her eyebrows. “What, you can’t even talk to just one girl?” She scrunched up her nose, then laughed and jerked her head in Carter’s direction. “And here I thought only Carter had that problem.”

Carter’s face colored. While I have never blushed in my life, it was easy to make him look red enough for steam to come out of his ears. “Hey! Leave me out of this!”

“Wait, what?” I whipped my head around, staring at Carter. “A girl? You, Carter? Who’s this?”

If possible, his face turned redder. “None of your business!” he snapped, turning his head away. Man, even his ears were red. I couldn’t help but finger my own. How did that feel like? It must feel really weird.

Amy was strangely silent during our short conversation. I glanced at her, immediately suspicious. The only time Amy was quiet was when she was up to something. Sure enough, she had pushed her headphones off her right ear, frowning and twitching this way and that, as she listened for something in the distance.

According to Hank, the only other teacher in school so far – Coming here to Xavier, I quickly learned that this ‘school’ was the loosest definition of the term – Amy’s spectacular hearing was based off that of owls’. That’s why she only had holes on the side of her head, one slightly higher than the other, instead of regular human ears. Her headphones were to drown out the sound to tolerable levels until she could control it, and to hide her ears from unkind eyes. The wide sunglasses hanging from her collar was to help hide her face when she tried to listen for something far away. She always made the weirdest faces when she did that, scrunching up her face every which way. Apparently, barn owls did the same thing with their facial muscles, in order to direct the sound to their ears better.

It always lifted my mood a little whenever she did her listening trick without putting on her sunglasses. It meant she felt comfortable enough doing it around us, knowing we wouldn’t laugh. (Or, at least, not laugh because we were being mean. Some of the faces she made _were_ kind of terrible.)

Her neck was pretty flexible too, though not enough to turn it 180 degrees, thank God. And while her eyes could be described as big, they weren’t unnaturally so, and had no special powers attached.

I pressed a hand to my eyes, not looking forward to what she had planned, at _all._ But I stayed quiet anyway, knowing she would hate it if I made a noise so close to her. The things I do for friends.

Carter, too, stayed quiet, though he did shuffle closer to me. His eyes were alight with curiosity, framed by blond lashes I could barely see in the sunlight. Amy twitched at the sound, but otherwise ignored us. She must be listening for something pretty far out, then. Carter glanced at me. I turned my eyes to the sky in exasperation, then shrugged. A grin tugged at his lips.

At long last Amy stirred from her hearing session, covering her ear once again with her headphones. Her eyes fluttered as she adjusted. “Welcome back,” Carter greeted her, his voice dry. “What were you up to this time?”

She blinked at him a couple more times, then beamed. “I found them!”

“Them?” I parroted, even as she leapt to her feet and started dragging me up by the elbow. “Ow- hey!” Carter scrambled to his feet before she could harass him too.

“Yep! Them.” Grinning like a cat that got the cream, she started walking towards the other end of the school’s sprawling gardens, never letting my arm loose for a second. “It took me a while to find them, but only because Hank was running laps around them, and Kurt was practicing his teleporting. Noisy stuff. But they’re behind the house. Y’know, where the big satellite dish is.”

Carter’s eyes widened. “Oh no. You didn’t.”

“What? _What?”_ I glanced between him and Amy, practically tripping over a tree root at the pace Amy was going.

“Think about it,” Carter said, the exasperation clear in his voice. He shoved his hands in his pockets, keeping pace with us just fine. “Who else hangs out a lot with Blue and Bigger Blue?”

“‘Blue’ and ‘Bigger Blue’?” I repeated, still a bit out of whack. The first thing I thought of was the pond we had just left and the bigger one nearer to the back of the mansion, but that obviously wasn’t it. Then I figured Blue and Bigger Blue were probably people, then I remembered what Amy said about Hank and Kurt the teleporter and I realized Blue and Bigger Blue was Hank and Kurt – no, the other way around. And who else hangs out a lot with them but The Hero Mystique (caps not mine), Storm (Ororo Monroe, I remembered because it rhymed, but everyone calls her Storm), That Asshole Scott Summers (Carter’s caps this time), and-

“No!” I flailed, and tried to tug my arm out of Amy’s grip. Uselessly, of course. When Amy got set on a course of action, not even a brick wall shielded by naked men would stop her. Unless she _was_ headed for the naked men.

Um. Forget I even _thought_ that. I’m sorry Jesus!

“Amy, let me go, you wouldn’t!” I pleaded.

“It’ll be like ripping off a band aid. You’ll be _fine._ ” She flapped her free hand, as if that would be enough to dismiss my worries.

“No I won’t! Carter, help me!” I turned my pleading look at Carter, who in turn looked like someone had shoved a folder in his hand and told him to become the president. In other words, completely _out of his depth._ He glanced at Amy. She frowned, glaring at him until she looked like she was squinting. He paled.

“Sorry, Clara, you’re on your own,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender.

“Traitor!” I said in outrage, still at my futile attempt to escape.

Suddenly, Amy took a sharp turn, heading straight for the mansion instead of around it. We were close enough that the door was only a few feet away. The sort-of balcony area thing I assumed the Group From Egypt ( _everyone’s_ caps) were hanging out in was just around the corner. “Look, if you can’t talk to Jean, then we might as well go to the professor, let him read your mind and get it over with.”

“ _No!_ ” I shrieked, my loudest yet. I dug my feet into the ground, refusing to budge another inch, and almost toppled over when Amy clamped her hands over her ears with a yelp. Thank God Carter grabbed me before I could fall. “No,” I repeated, softer, and a touch apologetic. My heart was still thumping like it had just raced the Roadrunner in a marathon, and the shiver on my scalp told me my hair had probably turned pink again, so I didn’t feel so sorry at Amy’s wounded look. “Yes, okay, fine, we’ll go to Jean Grey, just, please, _please_ don’t tell the professor-“

“Tell the professor… what?” The words trailed off into a long drawl. I froze. Amy’s expression turned murderous. Sure enough, when I turned around, an all-too familiar face (“With a jawline just asking you to punch it,” Amy’s voice echoed in my head) smirked at me, all too gleeful at the prospect of trouble.

“Fuck off, Luke,” Carter snarled, his hands clenching into fists. Luke raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face.

“Why? You being naughty, Coconut?” He turned that smirk on me, making me shiver. I could feel my hair shifting colors again. I tried to stop it, if only so he wouldn’t know he was affecting me, but the way his eyes flickered to my head and his smirk widened told me I wasn’t successful.

“Go mind your own business, you dick,” Amy said, yanking at my hand. This time I went all too willingly, never taking my eyes from Luke and Jason, his scrawny, black-haired friend. Jason was snickering under his breath. Carter was still glaring at them both, but at least he was backtracking with us.

Then of course Jason had to open his mouth. “Yeah that’s right, run away, you Flip.”

I threw myself at Carter, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and putting all my weight backwards. Even then he still managed to pull us both a little forward, his mouth open in an incoherent yell. “Carter, no!” I gasped, trying to keep us both on our feet and nowhere near Luke and Jason. Jason was laughing out loud now, sharing the joke with a gleeful Luke.

“You take that back!” Carter yelled, thrashing against my grip. He wasn’t trying very hard, at least, otherwise one of us would have gotten hurt. Or both.

“What, are you going to fight us, Hall?” Luke mocked. I tightened my grip on Carter, who looked ready to claw his eyes out. “You want a fight?” He raised his hands in a mock-boxer’s pose, then dropped them and laughed. It was obvious he didn’t think Carter could take him – either of them. Which was totally underestimating Carter. But it still pissed him off even more.

 “It’s not worth it!” I hissed, holding on with all my might. If I loosened my arms, even just a little, he might take it as a go-ahead signal to get to punching.

“He called you a Flip!” he said, turning his head the little that he could so he could say it to my face.

“Doesn’t make it worth it!” I insisted. Reluctantly, Carter relaxed, his hands coming to rest over mine on his chest. I sighed in relief.

“Damn, Luke,” Jason said, still snickering to himself. “Looks like we’ve got a monkey lover here.”

Carter ripped himself free and roared for Jason’s throat.

“Hey! What’s going on over here?”

We all turned towards the sound. I managed to spot Amy, eyes wide and face pale, before my attention was arrested by the six feet give-or-take’s worth of blue fur and deep growls beside her. With them was a familiar redhead (whose hair I’ve _also_ tried copying in the mornings sometimes, yes, shush), beautiful and absentminded in her grace, lighting up the part of the hindbrain that recognizes those who are stronger than you with just a glance. To Jean’s left and right were gangly Scott Summers and his ever-present shades (that made him look even _more_ like an asshole, says Carter) and Kurt Wagner (Vagner?), blue, three-fingered, and as curious as his tail was flexible.

“Something wrong, boys?” Hank said at last, coming to a stop in front of our little montage.

I glanced at Carter, frozen in the act of leaping towards Jason, and Jason and Luke, both stepping back, with Luke’s arms ready to dole out a punch. Their suddenly nervous looks were almost… funny.

Hank was a lot more intimidating now that he was covered in blue fur.

“Nothing,” I said, before Carter could open his mouth. Furious, he turned to me, ready to protest, so I shifted towards him and stepped on his foot for good measure.

Hank was also good at expressing how much he _didn’t_ believe us with his blue fur. Particularly with his bushy eyebrows.

“Really,” I added. Okay, I didn’t even sound convincing to myself. But that was my story and I was sticking to it. Even if I could _feel_ Jason and Luke smirking once again behind my back.

“We were just telling Reyes what a nice day it is today, sir,” Luke drawled, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “Not our fault Hall got all… territorial.” He and Jason snickered again, like it was an inside joke only they knew. I kind of remembered seeing Luke wandering around, looking angry and lost during his first few days here. But he really started getting nasty when he befriended Jason, who had been a sullen loner before he came around.

Carter reddened. “You shut your trap, asshole!”

“Carter.” Hank’s tone cut through the argument faster than a sword through paper. He placed a furry hand (paw?) on Carter’s shoulder, keeping him from attacking the Terrible Two once more. “That’s enough.” He lifted his head, looking at each of us in turn. His eyes stayed on me longest, inscrutable underneath all that fur. I felt the back of my neck crawl when he looked at me. Unlike other people, he didn’t let himself get distracted by it. I swallowed and did my best to meet his gaze.  Whatever he saw in them made him sigh, then turn back to the boys. I got the odd feeling that I disappointed him somehow. I bit my lip. “That goes for all of you,” he said. “This place is a sanctuary. We’re all family here. For most of us, this is all we have.” His voice was solemn. All of us ducked our heads in shame. I knew for sure we were all thinking back to the horror of waking up to our home blown to pieces just days ago. “I’m not asking you guys to get along. But at least try to avoid getting into fights.”

“Yes, sir,” we muttered. Luke and Jason didn’t sound a bit sorry. Carter just sounded stubborn.

From Hank’s wry smile, he could tell they didn’t sound all that convinced either. “Go on then,” he said with a sigh. “Scram.”

I made the mistake of glancing back to watch them leave. Jason stuck his tongue out at me, while Luke mouthed ‘Flip’. My scalp crawled. They laughed, and ran back inside.

Hank was talking to Amy, so he didn’t see. Carter did, but at least he wasn’t ballsy enough to start something while “Bigger Blue” was around. “…nk you for calling me,” Hank finished, as we approached them.

“It was no problem, sir,” Amy said, her eyes wide, albeit for a different reason now. Hank had been the one to design her noise-cancelling headphones, so that she could walk her way through a crowd and not collapse from volume overload. I bet he could build a less potent patent (heh) and help fund the school. Pretty sure music fanatics would kill for headphones like that. Also pretty sure the technology is – what, ten? Twenty? – years ahead of its time.

Hank turned to us when we approached. His gaze landed on me again, assessing me from head to foot. “Clara, right?” he said, his tone gentle. He stretched his lips in his own special version of a smile. It was funny to think of him, practicing in the mirror, until he got the sense not to bare his teeth and scare off all the little kids when he tried to be nice. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, ducking my head. He stared at me for a moment more, then shifted on his feet. He nodded to us one last time, then loped off, his long strides quickly eating ground. I watched him go, unable to tear my eyes away from how… animalistic his movements looked. He looked like he would have been more comfortable running if he dropped down to all fours.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder, making me leap about a hundred feet into the air in surprise (give or take). “Why did you stop me?” Carter hissed, cutting off the shriek I was about to let loose. “You can’t just let them walk over you like this!”

“He’s right, you know,” Amy said, walking up to us. While her face was still bright after talking to Hank, her eyebrows were already furrowing together in thought. “Those two aren’t going to stop unless you stand up to them.”

“It’s fine, okay?” I raised my hands, trying to get them to calm down. “I’m used to it. You heard Hank; we can’t start any trouble. This place is supposed to be a safe space for mutants, not somewhere else to draw lines on the ground.”  

“Hey.” We all turned, in different shades of embarrassment at forgetting we had company. Scott walked up to us, Jean just beside him and Kurt still shyly tagging along behind. “What was that?” Scott jerked his head at the door, where Luke and Jason had disappeared to.

“Like I said, it’s nothing.” I shot a glare at Carter, daring him to contradict me. He glared back, but at least he just crossed his arms and stayed quiet.

“I see,” Jean said. Her expression told us that yes, she did see. All too clearly. I ducked my head, but not in time to miss Kurt (and maybe Scott) watch in fascination as my hair color changed. Again.

It’s been a long day, and it was only going to get longer.

“Are you like her?” Kurt asked, his thick, accented voice catching everyone’s attention with ease. When I blinked at him, uncomprehending, he added, “Like… _her. …_ Mystique.”

Small wonder he hesitated. His accent made the word, the _name_ , thick, like syrup. I almost didn’t understand it, except he said the word ‘ _her’_ with the kind of reverence reserved for the name of one person by a people so long without hope. Then I processed what he meant.

“No!” I cried, throwing up my hands as if to ward off blasphemy. “No, no, I’m not, I just change hair colors, it’s nowhere near that I swear!”

Scott snorted. Amy, Carter, and Jean all glared at him. I just shoved my face in my hands. I didn’t need to look to know my hair was bright red – the same shade as Mystique’s natural hair, in fact. Which wasn’t exactly helping my case.

“I still think we should have stopped them,” Carter muttered under his breath. Kurt shot him a look; he must have better hearing than normal people did. I shot Carter a look too; a look that said, _‘Shut up, or_ else.’

“It’s not worth it,” I hissed. His cool green eyes searched me, piercing in the way he rarely looked when he was hit with his flashes of insight.

“You’re worth it,” he said, with a gravitas I couldn’t laugh off. I felt my scalp shiver in response. What had he seen? Did he see the number of times I’ve been called that? The times I’ve been called less, and the times I’ve been called worse? Did he see the times when it was no longer just words but hands and pushes and a pair of scissors–

Carter was neither an empath nor a telepath. His talent was spotty. It was like the world would give him insights about whatever he was touching on a whim. Some were small enough to be irritating, like a glimpse of the breakfast someone ate with that fork or the emotions of the player who touched the basketball last. Others were so bad they were debilitating, leaving him shaking and pale for days. From the little he’s told me, these involved objects important to their owner or objects held during a stressful, emotional situation. Sometimes the memories are from the owner’s point of view. Sometimes Carter’s the observer. Sometimes the insight isn’t related at all.

He was currently working on controlling his talent with the Professor. Their sessions were usually hit or miss. One time, their session got so bad I caught him staggering out of the Professor’s office, white as a sheet. Amy said he woke up screaming the rest of the week. I didn’t know what exactly he had seen or touched, and he refused to say anything about it. All I know is that, when I peeked into the Professor’s office, I saw the Professor, just as pale and looking like he’d seen a ghost, running his hand back and forth on his wheelchair’s arm.

“Punching them won’t stop it,” I said, as gently as I could. It will never stop, not when I’m barely five feet tall, with skin the color of pale sienna, and a whole score of other minute details that made me not an American in the only way it mattered. “Besides, I’m fine. See?” I spread my hands wide, in the epitome of ‘fine’.

“Your hands are shaking,” Amy said flatly.

“Your hair was white just minutes ago,” Carter added. I clenched my hands into fists, and shook my head, putting everything I had into changing it to the first color I could think of – a lurid green. I glared at them for comment. They wisely didn’t.

“I take it this happens often,” Scott said, adjusting his shades with one hand. Or maybe he was trying to hide his snickers. It wasn’t working, anyway.

I considered the merits of telling him to just ‘fuck off’. Jean’s lips twitched. I let out the equivalent of a mental sigh, and, flicking a small smile at a shared joke her way, went for the politer route. “It was just Luke being Luke again,” I said, trying to blow it off. I wasn’t sure how successful I was. I was tired, and I think I sounded like it too. “He’s had some bone to pick with me since he got here.”

“What I don’t understand is why he’s so mean,” Amy grumbled. She bit her thumb as she thought, frowning at the door the boys had disappeared through. “You’d think that he’d be happy here – a safe space for all of us, like Hank said. Or at least, if he hated it here, he’d be mad at _everyone._ But I saw him being nice to Valeria just yesterday.” Her nose wrinkled. “And Valeria’s not easy to like.”

This time Scott really did laugh. Carter snorted, knowing full well the many reasons – _and_ incidents – that made Amy dislike Valeria in the first place. Most of which weren’t Valeria’s fault. Kurt had a hesitant smile on his face, happy because his friends were happy but not sure why.

Then Jean spoke up.

“He’s trying to reestablish himself,” she murmured. We all turned to her, in varying levels of surprise. “He’d been a quarterback in his old school… best in his team, and all that. Their star player.” Her eyes were hazy, looking in the same direction Amy was. “Then all of a sudden, his mutation developed. Now he’s the freak, the reject at the bottom of the social ladder.” She turned to me, her gaze terribly knowing and terribly cold. “The place is different, but there’s a hierarchy all the same. He may be a freak, but at least he’s not the lowest of the low.”

I turned it over in my head. Tried to imagine being the idol of the school, that popular jock that was both a stereotype and a reality in all the schools I’ve been to or heard of. Tried to think of what it would feel like when one day, all that fell away, when electronics started dying in my hands and my eyes started sparking lightning. Remembered what it felt like, in that earth shattering moment when I realized I was different and I could never, ever be the same, not even to the few I knew who shared my height and skin tone, in a land filled with pale people who towered over all of us. Slowly, I nodded.

Storm was out of reach for the simple fact that she could blast Luke to bits, ability to conduct electricity notwithstanding. Kurt, he couldn’t touch, because he hung out with Scott and Jean, two of the scariest mutants in the school. Not to mention he could always teleport out of trouble. The same applied to Jubilee, who was friends with Jean and could blind Luke for hours if he pissed her off enough.

A five foot, brown skinned girl, whose only ability was mood ring hair? I might as well have painted ‘Kick Me’ on my back.

Carter and Amy looked gob smacked. It was one thing to know Jean was a telepath, another to see it in action. “But- but that’s not fair!” Carter burst out.

I shook my head. “Life isn’t fair.” Amy bit her lip. Carter clenched his fists, unable to argue. It was something we all knew, after all.

Kurt turned to Scott with a whisper. “What’s a quarterback?”

“He’s right though,” Jean added, nodding at Carter to show who she meant. “You’re right; you can’t stop this kind of prejudice from happening to you. But that doesn’t mean you should just accept it.” Her attention flickered to the whispered discussion going on beside her, then turned back to me, her gray-green eyes piercing. Did all psychics have that quality? “You _belong_ here _._ You deserve a safe space too.”

I swallowed. Hard. My mouth was dry. All of a sudden, I had no idea what to say. I settled on: “Thanks.”

For a moment, Jean looked surprised. Then, she smiled. It lit up her face. It was like she became a whole different person.

Her dimples were cute.

Her smile grew. “You’re welcome.”

At that point, I gave up trying to keep my hair any color other than red.

Scott coughed, breaking what would have soon become a particularly awkward silence. “Yeah, well, it was nice meeting you guys,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Come on, Jean.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Wait!” she blurted, stepping forward. She grabbed Jean by the arm, stopping her from leaving. Again, Jean looked startled, as if it was something strange for someone to touch her willingly. I hoped not. My theory was that everyone in this mansion needed hugs. Lots of them. That didn’t mean I wanted my theory to be _true._ “We wanted to ask you something, actually-“

That’s when everything rushed back into my mind – the class this morning, my pathetic efforts to keep my secret, Amy’s crazy idea, until Luke came in and- “Amy, no!” I squeaked, grabbing her hand. Except her hand was on Jean’s arm, which was attached to Jean, who, of course, happened to be a telepath, which meant-

Jean raised a hand to her temple, blinking. “You have a crush on Professor X?” she asked, sounding a mite bit dazed and more than a bit incredulous.

“Oh, _this_ I gotta hear,” Scott said gleefully.

* * *

 

 _This is so stupid._ I felt absolutely humiliated.

_We were in the middle of winter,_

It didn’t help that I could feel my hair shifting colors every few seconds out of sheer nerves.

_the wind blew strong from the north-east, and I objected._

A part of me was tempted to tear my eyes from the book and check on Jean;

_Both the expressions flitting over her face, and the changes of her moods,_

-but that wasn’t the point of the experiment so I tried to rein it in.

_began to alarm me terribly-_

 

A hand touched my arm, jolting me out of my thoughts. I looked up, and found Carter kneeling beside me, signaling the end of the experiment. He raised his eyebrow in a silent question. I nodded; I was fine, all this morning’s excitement aside. Amy looked up from where she had been chatting with Scott and Kurt. “Well?” she asked.

“Well…” Jean said at last, dropping her hand. She blinked, recovering from the daze she seemed to go into when she focused on people’s thoughts. “If it’s any consolation, the Professor prefers to keep a tight rein on his powers. If he ever _was_ browsing the mood around him, I’m… pretty sure he wouldn’t linger too long on yours.” She frowned in thought, or maybe winced. It was hard to tell. Maybe both? “Do you always think like that?” she asked.

I glanced at Amy and Carter, who looked just as clueless as I felt. “Like… what?” I asked, feeling nervous.

“That… fast.” She paused. “Messily.”

My mouth worked, but nothing came out. I peeked at Amy and Carter again. Half of Scott’s face was covered by his shades, so I found no help there. Kurt was watching with interest. Eep. “I… guess?” I tried.

Amy perked up. “Oh, you mean how she’d get lost in thought? Or suddenly switch conversation topics without realizing it?” She grinned, tossing her long, brown hair over her shoulder. “It’s where I got the idea for her mind trick, actually. If _we_ had trouble following her sometimes, why not the professor?”

I deadpanned. “Looks like the answer is a yes.” It _was_ a bit surprising though. I never thought of my, uh, thought processes (?) that way. I just thought I was, well, weird.

Jean shook her head, but she was smiling so I didn’t think it was that bad. “You sound like Peter.”

“Peter?” I echoed. It took me a moment to place the name. Peter… something-foreign. I remembered his white hair and white cast, and how he could talk a mile a minute – which was all he could do for now, with his leg broken and all. He was one of the reasons the story about Apocalypse spread so fast around the school. (The other one started with an S. No guesses as to who.) There had been a long line to sign his cast. Everyone was more than a little star struck with the guy who saved us from the mansion explosion last week. We’d all compared stories – I had been on my way back to my room, when a blast of air had stolen the breath from my lungs and suddenly I was on the lawn, just in time to hear the boom. Peter always sounded so excited. But I always seemed to just pass him by in the halls, or see him from afar when we were on the grounds.

“I can introduce you, if you want.” Jean smiled, following my line of thought. I ducked my head, embarrassed, then grinned back.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’d like that.”

“Wait, so was it a bust, or…?” Carter glanced between us, confused at missing half of the conversation.

Jean shook her head. “No, I think you’re doing just fine.” She grinned, the smile looking impish on her round cheeks. “Though, honestly, if you want to keep him out of your head, just imagine a wall. I’m sure he’ll respect your wishes. No need for such a complicated setup.”

I glared at Amy. “I told you so!” She just laughed. I almost laughed too, then I remembered what happened in class. My face fell. “I think I insulted him, though.”

Jean frowned. “How?”

I opened my mouth to try to put it to words. Closed it. Tilted my head. Frowned. Gave up, and wiggled my fingers at my head with a wince. Jean smiled, then brushed her fingers against her temple. I tried to replicate what I did.

Jean winced. Busted.

I groaned and put my head in my hands.

“I… feel like I’m missing something,” Carter said carefully.

“Don’t worry, you get used to it.” Scott grinned, like there was a joke going around and we weren’t in on it. Sucks to be him, because it looked like Kurt wasn’t in on it either.

 _That one works less because you’re shielding your thoughts and more because you’re creating a confusing whirlwind of them_.

I blinked, reaching up on instinct to touch my head, even though I knew what was happening. (Or, at least, figured out what was going on a second later.) I glanced at Jean. She smiled at me, though it looked a bit more hesitant than the ones she gave me before. I wondered why, then I thought of how a normal person would act if they heard voices in their heads. Oh.

I gave her the biggest grin I could, hoping it looked reassuring and not crazy. I didn’t mind, not really. It was cool. And also useful as heck.

Color rushed to Jean’s cheeks, two little spots of pleasure above her beaming smile. Aloud, she said, “You could always try apologizing.”

A… _apologizing?!_

I shook my head wildly, my eyes feeling ready to pop out of their sockets and my hair to crawl out of my scalp. No way in hell could I control my thoughts in a situation like that. Especially not one-on-one with his kind smile and his bright blue eyes- _eep_ didn’t quite cut it.

“I do not understand,” Kurt spoke up. His tail flicked from side to side, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Are we… Why does she want to crush the professor?” He glanced at me, Carter, and Amy, then peeked at Scott and Jean. “Why are we helping? Did we not just rescue him? He is still healing.”

A giggle burst out of my mouth before I could slap my hand over it. Kurt cringed, pouring guilt like a bucket of ice over my head. Amy glared at me, making me feel even worse. I wasn’t laughing at him; I was trying to keep myself from collapsing into hysterical giggling. Kindly, she said to Kurt, “Clara doesn’t want to crush the professor. ‘Crush’ means she likes him.” She clasped her hands together and placed them over her heart with a smile. “Like this.”

“Ah. _Verliebt!_ ” He beamed, his fanged grin lighting up his face like a carved pumpkin on Halloween. I felt Carter jump a little, beside me. Kurt’s grin was adorable, but also kinda freaky. Jean glanced at me. I raised my hands in defense. It would take some time in getting used to, that’s all.

“Why _do_ you like him anyway?” Scott asked, his eyebrow rising in an arch over his red lenses. “The guy’s old enough to be your dad. Is it because he’s in a wheelchair?” His voice turned hard, but I didn’t notice from the rush of anger that pressed my hands into fists and my hair shifting into a dark, bloody red.

“Hey!” Carter glared at Scott, but I cut him off before he could say anything else.

“My dad served in the Vietnam war,” I said, fighting to keep my voice level. My nails hurt where they were biting into my palm – guess it’s time for an appointment with the nail cutter. I pressed my lips together – _focus_ – and continued. “He came home with a leg healed wrong and missing the other. He sells wood carvings to the local grocery shop now.” I took a deep breath. “So, no, it’s _not_ because I pity the professor.”

“That was uncalled for,” Amy said, her voice sharp.

Scott’s face colored. Jean put a hand on his arm, startling him out of whatever he planned to say. “Scott’s just feeling protective,” she explained. “You could have phrased that better,” she added, turning to him.

The scolding was light, but the line of his lips turned mulish, an expression I was familiar with. (Thanks, Carter.) I glared back, more hurt than I cared to admit. The fact that he would imply something like that… He didn’t even _know_ me!

Jean’s glare deepened. Finally, Scott broke our stare-down, turning his head away. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Carter felt ready to throw a punch in his face the minute I gave the slightest hint I would approve; he was practically vibrating beside me. I took a deep breath and forced my fists open, flattening them into the grass under me. “It’s fine,” I lied through my teeth.

There was a moment of silence as everyone tried to figure out what to do. Scott looked like he was struggling with something. Carter still looked like he was trying to bore holes in the side of Scott’s head with his glare alone (wrong superpower, buddy). Poor Kurt looked between us and his friends, trying to work out what we just said in English then the nuances as well. The awkward quiet stretched.

Kurt spoke up. “I am glad we are not crushing the professor.”

We stared. In turn, he grinned, his sharp teeth and even sharper smile looking the complete opposite of comforting. Somehow, he still managed to look cute while he was at it.

I couldn’t help it; my heart softened, just a little. Amy cracked first. She smiled back and patted him on the hand. “Me too, Kurt,” she said, solemn as a funeral. “Me too.”

I shook my head and ran a gentle hand through my hair. It tickled, but it was also one of the ways I figured out to help with a color change. Bloody red against my dark skin was unnerving. I hated it. Carter gave me a searching look before he finally relaxed, making my lips twist in a rueful smile. That guy needed a longer fuse, big-time.

Things didn’t flow as easily as before Scott’s fumble. Amy facilitated the conversation, telling Kurt about her life in the outskirts of the San Francisco Bay area. Jean was willing enough to help keep the dialogue going, and Carter and I provided input from time to time. Even Scott contributed with some snide and sometimes witty remarks.

By the time the bell rang, signaling our break was over, we were ready to say our goodbyes. I couldn’t help but feel a little regret though – while I doubted I would forgive Scott any time soon, when even his apology didn’t sound sincere, I liked Kurt and Jean. Kurt was cute in his cluelessness, while Jean was interesting, and patient enough if you didn’t try to dance on tenterhooks around her. It was nice to know they weren’t as scary as they seemed. I felt something heavy start to grow on my chest, tugging me towards a desire, or a need. I… wanted to get to know them better. Maybe even Scott too, if he turned out better than our initial meeting. He _did_ mean well, according to Jean. (Not that that was an excuse, but…)

Some of my conflict must have shown on my face, because Jean paused in front of me before they left. (Or maybe she just read my mind. Who knows, who cares?) In a move I would later learn as uncharacteristic of her, she hesitated. I felt confused, but I stood my ground and hugged myself, willing to wait for her to decide… whatever she needed to. At last she smiled, and said, “Good luck.”

I covered the bottom of my face with one hand, feeling my hair shift. “Thanks,” I replied, feeling like my grin wanted to flop off my face and dance the conga. My cheeks hurt. I wanted to hide in a closet. Instead I lowered my hand and returned Jean’s smile with a sheepish one.

Carter waited until they went ahead and disappeared into the mansion before making his complaints known. “I told you Summers was an asshole,” he remarked with only minimal sullenness, his hands in his pockets and his moderate strides leading the way back indoors.

“He meant well,” I said tiredly, repeating Jean’s earlier statement and my earlier thought. Faster than I could have thought possible, Carter whirled to face me, his mood flipping like a dime on its edge.

“Why are you defending him?!” I wasn’t sure if he was angry or incredulous. Maybe both.

I rolled my eyes and shoved him aside. He was blocking the way. “Because if I don’t avoid getting mad, I’d be furious at everyone and everything, all the time. It’s exhausting.”

“Is that why you won’t stand up to Luke?” Amy asked, keeping pace with me, even as Carter tagged along behind, grumbling. Her voice was low and neutral, making it clear she wasn’t after a fight. I flashed a small smile at her in reassurance. While Amy agreed with Carter’s more aggressive personality, she was of the gentler type, which was a great help when trying to curb Carter’s temper.

“I like to think of it as him stressing himself out being mean to me, while I just coast along and chill.” I sighed and rolled my shoulders, trying to stretch the tense muscles on my back. “Maybe I’ll go take a nap. My next class isn’t until later, anyway.”

Amy grinned at me. “You and your _siestas_ ,” she teased, smoothing her hair over one shoulder.

“You betcha.” I glanced at my watch. “You two better head off, anyway. Don’t you have classes?”

Carter frowned at his, as if it had personally offended him. He glanced at me, a faint crease between his eyebrows. “You’ll be alright?” he asked, tentative. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again, and smiled instead. He could be so protective, _honestly._

“Yes, Carter; it’s not like I’m going on a grand adventure or something.” I couldn’t help the touch of sarcasm. His brand of mother-hen-ing could get _very_ annoying. If only he treated Amy like this too. As it was, she took one look at my face and burst into giggles.

She took my hand in hers before I could head up to my room. Startled, I let her, watching a shadow chase any remains of mirth on her face. “Don’t forget,” she said, her voice quiet. “You belong here too.” Her expression erased any possibility of laughing in her face.

“Yeah.” Carter clapped a hand on my shoulder, his smile apologetic. “Jean was right. Don’t let that asshole get you down.”

Warmth bubbled up from my gut all the way to my heart. My smile was so wide it hurt my teeth, and I knew for sure the impending tears at the corners of my eyes weren’t from the pain. I threw my arms around the both of them without bothering to think about it. Carter yelped and turned bright red; Amy laughed and hugged me back. “Thanks,” I whispered around the lump in my throat.

“What else are friends for?” Amy patted my back, then pinched me. This time _I_ yelped before letting go. “Now go on, before you render Carter permanently mute.”

“Maybe it’ll stop him from whining all the time,” I teased, and, giving them one last squeeze, let go.

“Hey!” Carter protested, but it was half-hearted at best. I laughed, waving as I made my way up the stairs. Carter had math up next, while it was Amy’s turn to have literature. Usually at this point, I would retreat to the library or go to my room. Considering today’s excitement, the call of my room was sounding sweeter and sweeter. My bed, in particular.

I probably should have focused on watching where I was going.

Broad shoulders shoved at my side, making me stagger and almost bump into the wall. Loud snickers let me know exactly who it was.

“Aw, sorry Coconut,” Luke said, his voice dripping with remorse. “Didn’t see you there.” Jason collapsed into a fit of giggles.

I was tired. I was on the crash after an adrenaline rush. And my chest was still buzzing with the soft, cozy feeling that came with friendship.

Or maybe Carter was rubbing off on me.

I looked up at the roof, praying for patience but not really meaning it. “Seriously? That wasn’t even funny.”

Silence. I looked back down to find Luke and Jason staring. Jason’s mouth was a little ‘o’. A smile flashed across my face – too quick to hold back, but I tucked it away before it could cause trouble. I think. “I mean, come on. A short joke? Really?” I continued, that warmth in my chest stirring into something hotter. I wanted to think it was bravery. “The least you could do is get creative. I’m starting to get bored.”

Luke opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, unprepared for my sudden change of heart. I really couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across my face then. Just as quickly, his surprise changed into anger, his brows meeting in a stormy glare. His smirk was vicious. “Look at you. Saved by the Beast and already acting like you’re on top of the world.” He stepped forward, forcing me to look up at him or back away. “Too bad you’re just the same little monkey you were an hour ago.”

I swallowed, but stood my ground. “I’m not a monkey,” I said, trying to keep my voice even despite everything. Losing my temper would mean sinking to his level. “I’m a person, just like you.” _You belong here._ Jean had said it. So had Scott, and Carter, and Amy.

I loved this school. It was the first place I ever felt safe, ever since the first time my mom took me to the salon and I realized I was different. The others were right – I _did_ belong here, more than I could anywhere else. No matter what my skin color was. Even if my parents ever brought me back to the land of their birth, I would never fit in. Never mind that I was a mutant. I couldn’t even speak _Filipino_.

It wasn’t until my friends pointed it out that I realized – I hadn’t felt at home in the school ever since Luke started badgering me months ago. And I was tired of it.

Holding that knowledge close for courage, I continued talking over Luke’s astounded face. “We’re all the same here, Luke. We’ve all felt rejected and isolated because of our abilities.” I paused, searching his gray eyes for the right words to say. “I can’t let you bully me to make yourself feel better anymore. I’m sorry.” I regretted my last words right after I said them. Amy would scold me for apologizing. But Luke was gaping at me like I had just confessed my undying love for him, so I guess it worked in the end.

“Don’t talk as if you know what we’ve been through!” Jason broke the both of us out of our stupor. Luke jerked away from me, as if I had just shocked his feet with lightning. I ducked around him and bolted, before he could get his wits together and do something worse than insult me.

Sure enough, I heard him yell, a sudden explosion of frustration, rising in tandem with Jason’s hurried words. But something seemed to lift from my shoulders, making me feel lighter than I’ve felt in weeks. There was a huge smile on my face when I closed the door to my room.

Now if I could just get over my crush on the professor, I’d be the happiest girl around.

* * *

 

I should have known that Luke and Jason wouldn’t leave it at that. But the happy feeling persisted up to the next day, and Carter and Amy kept feeding my triumph, so the idea slipped my mind. They must have asked for at least three different reiterations of the event, just so they could crow even louder, every time.

It happened on our way back from the green. It was a Tuesday, so although our break was the same our schedules were different. I wasn’t going to meet the professor until later, so naturally I was worrying like a champ.

“Maybe I should just skip class,” I fretted, flipping my Wuthering Heights copy end over end in my hands. “I can apologize some other time, right? I won’t be able to focus on my summary at this rate…” True enough, my notebook was still on my lap, with just two sentences’ worth of effort on the page.

“You do realize that will make you stand out even more, right?” Carter mumbled around his sandwich. “He’s _definitely_ going to notice if you skip class. Plus, everyone’s going to think you did it to skip out on your assignment.”

Considering our Lit class consisted of less than 20 people, Carter had a point. I groaned, and flattened my face against Wuthering Heights. I didn’t even _like_ Wuthering Heights. Catherine and Heathcliff were nuts, and everyone else talked too much. Almost wish I could put that in my summary.

“Cheer up!” Amy patted me on the back. “Think of it this way – if you apologize now, you can get it over with and go back to pining for him behind your book! It’s like-“

“If you say ‘ripping off a band aid’, I will throttle you,” I warned, pointing my pen at her face. And, as always, she just laughed. Jerk.

The bell rang, a gentle tolling that was much sweeter than a regular school’s. This time it was Carter who groaned. He had science next period, while me and Amy were free until the next one. “Bugger,” he grumbled, making me giggle. He must have picked that up from the professor. It happened sometimes, when he got hit with an insight. “I didn’t study for our quiz today.” He stood, groaning as he stretched the kinks out of his spine.

“Come on,” I said to Amy, getting up as well. “Let’s move to the library. Maybe I’ll concentrate better there.”

“But it’s so comfy here,” she whined, leaning back on her arms. I glanced up at the sunbeams slanting through the tree leaves onto her face, then raised my eyebrow at her. She snorted, guilty as charged, and leapt to her feet, brushing the grass from her pants. For someone who grew up in sunny California, Amy was obsessed with absorbing all the sunlight she could get.

We headed back to the mansion, chatting and bickering in turn. An unwelcome voice broke the pleasant atmosphere. “Hey, Coconut!” Luke yelled. We stopped, staring up at the small balcony above the mansion’s side door.

Our mistake.

 “Heads up!” He and Jason shifted something over the rails. There was a flash of light, reflecting off of metal, then a river of white. Instinct made me duck and cover my eyes, and just like that there was thick, acrid-smelling paint dripping over my hair, face, and arms.

I heard someone call my name. I think Jason said something he probably thought was witty. Pretty sure that was Carter yelling curses at the balcony. I didn’t realize I had fallen to my knees until concerned hands grabbed at my arms. My whimpers turned into a shriek. I curled up, bracing my hands over my head to shield it, or cradle it, but not touching, just hovering, because it burned, oh God it burned; lines of acid flaring up on each individual strand, following the path of the harsh syrup spreading across my hair.

The voices rose, sounding frantic, angry, scared. My fingers curled into claws as if to tear the air away from my hair and the pain with it.

_“I’m going to kill them!”_

_“Carter, no!”_

A loud crack. More voices, around me, above me. I curled up tighter, trying to be as small as possible. Couldn’t let them touch me. Couldn’t let _anything_ touch me. My heart thudded in my ears. Oh God, it _hurt._

_“What happened?”_

_“Luke and Jason- her hair, it’s hurting her hair-“_

Hands tried to grab me again. I screamed and threw them away, falling to my elbows in the process. My hair swayed with the movement, sending another wave of pain straight to my head.

 _Clara. Clara, I need you to_ calm down _-_

The hands returned, more determined than the last time. I thrashed, trying to get free, because this is how it started, they held me down and they wouldn’t listen to me, wouldn’t let me go, _let me go!_

 _“Kurt, take us to the showers!_ Now _!”_

I blinked. The grass under my hands was gone. White tiles contrasted with my stubby brown fingers. Little legs surrounded me, white, so pale it still looked weird sometimes, like they’d keel over from blood loss at any moment, except I was twelve and didn’t know what blood loss was yet.

_“I’m sorry! I’ve only been to the boys’ showers!”_

I was scared, face down on the floor with a weight pinning me down until it felt like I couldn’t breathe; scared because the girls were always mean but they never tried to hurt me before. Maybe they never meant to. But then someone grabbed my hair, and I screamed, because my hair had always been sensitive, more like ultra-thin fingers than the dead strands mom insisted didn’t feel anything. But I was twelve with blonde hair on my first day of school, tired of being called monkey, or wannabe nigger, giving into the temptation to change my hair and hoping maybe, just maybe, that people would like me better if I looked a little more like them.

And now that hair was wrapped around her fingers, even as I begged them to stop, voices calling me a baby and a crybaby coconut – they laughed – and then scissors. Scissors snipping through my hair, for the first time since that time when I was six and I screamed so loudly at the parlor the stylist refunded us so fast she practically paid us to leave. I could feel each strand give way under the relentless steel. I shrieked, thrashing against the white arms holding me down, feeling cold metal pinch, then cut, then burning fire. And they were calling my name, Clara,

_Clara! Clara, wake up!_

 Clara, and I was scared, so scared, out of my mind with pain, begging, _stop, PLEASE!_ Then _they_ were screaming, because who knew what color my hair was now. They screamed, called me monster, called for the

_Professor!_

_Let me. I’m afraid this requires a gentler touch than what you’re currently capable of, Jean._

I heard the teacher coming. They fled. The thought of the teacher felt comforting, but I was scared and hurt and _my hair._ What color was my hair? Nothing normal. Nothing that wouldn’t out me as a freak. So I crawled into my closet like I always did when my hair went out of control and I was scared mom and dad would find out. I curled in on myself, trying to keep the sobs in, the little whimpers, everything. I tried to shrink as small as I could, covering my face with my hands as if that would stop them from finding me.

_Clara._

The teacher’s voice was low, soothing. Familiar. But no matter how kind he sounded, I couldn’t let him find me. I couldn’t let them know I was a freak. A _mutant._

_Come out, Clara. It’s alright. No one’s going to hurt you anymore._

But it was _familiar._ Like smooth butter cream and hot chocolate on a cold day. Like the smell of tea and antique wood. Like wheels rolling on the carpet, a sound that brought me comfort ever since it meant dad had stopped moping in his room and started puttering around the house again.

I peeked through the crack between the closet doors. A tall man walked around the hazy room beyond, a hand in his curly hair as he searched.

_It’s alright Clara. You’re safe now._

I opened the door, making the crack a little wider, curious, hopeful, sniffling. He sounded so worried… and he felt safe. His voice made me feel safe.

I hesitated. “Promise?” I whispered, peeking out a little more.

The man turned around. Then he smiled, the brightest smile I’ve ever seen lighting up his face, filled with kindness, gentleness, relief. He knelt down and held his hands out to me, drawing my child’s body out of the closet and towards him for an embrace. Familiar, gorgeous blue eyes caught me in their gaze.

_I promise._

It was shock that pulled me back to reality more than anything. I opened my mouth to speak, or I tried to, but then my body helpfully pointed out the fact that I _couldn’t breathe._ I gasped, panic locking my joints together – then that voice was in my head again. Only this time, I recognized it as _in_ my head, and that I had been there too, all this time.

_It’s alright, Clara. Breathe. Breathe with me, can you do that?_

Slippery fingers took my hand and placed it over wet, squishy cloth. It rose,

_In._

and I followed instinctively, taking in a deep, stuttering breath, with a bit of water mixed in. I spluttered.

Why was I wet?

_Out._

The skin under my hand was warm through the wetness of the shirt. It fell. I exhaled.

_In. Out._

Slowly, the black spots in my vision cleared as the Professor guided me out of my anxiety attack. One hand kept mine pressed against his chest, while the other cupped my face, two fingers pressed against my temple. My awareness returned, little by little. I could hear the hissing of the showers, the water beating down on my back and head. My hair still burned, but it felt faded, like something was holding it back. Finally, I raised my head, blinking the water away from my eyes. Blue eyes crinkled in a kind smile greeted me, just like the ones in my… dream? Head? Memory?

“Welcome back, Clara,” he said. His hand left my cheek and smoothed my hair from my face. I braced myself for the pain. Sure enough, it spiked from the Professor’s touch – no matter how gentle, it still hurt – but it still felt like it came from somewhere far away.

“You were walking,” I said stupidly. Then of course I realized what I just said. Horrified, I clamped a hand over my lips,

_Wait, shit, oh God, I’m sorry-_

but all he did was smile wider.

“So I was,” he agreed.

I stared. He was close enough that I had nowhere else to look except to meet his gaze. “…in my head,” I continued, just to confirm.

_Yes._

That was a laugh, right there. I was sure of it.

 _Well_ then.

…Hi?

_Hello, Clara._

I… _felt_ the impression of a smile in my head, mirroring the one I saw on his face now. I tried to copy it, except it crumbled somewhere in the middle. Then I was crying, covering my face with my clenched fingers in a futile attempt to stop his already-soaked button-up from getting even wetter, as he pulled me to him in the embrace he offered moments ago, in my head. He held me close as I shook away the fear, the memories, of fingers in my hair and then pain, every single time. He just held me through it, murmuring soothingly in my ear and in my mind. I think at one point, when my sobs softened, he tried to pull away, mentally if not physically, but then I panicked and refused to let him go. Or maybe begged him not to go. Not like I could stop him if I tried. I wasn’t psychic, like Jean. _Could_ psychics keep another psychic in their head?

_I wouldn’t know._

He sounded amused.

_I haven’t tried, and, frankly, I don’t want to._

Yeah, okay, that made sense.

Sensing I had calmed, the Professor pulled away. It took a bit of effort on my part to let go, but after I managed to loosen my cramped fingers from his shirt, it got easier.

“Better?” he asked. It was a bit disconcerting to expect sodden curls only to find smooth skin. I kicked Carter just two days ago for making a joke about it.

I nodded. “This is going to hurt,” he warned, before letting go of my face. And just like that, the burning sensation in my hair came back. I had to shut my eyes at the pain. I pressed my lips together, but a whimper escaped.

“I’m sorry.” A warm hand covered my knee. “I wish I could hold it back, but that would just be a temporary solution. It would be better if you let Jean and Amy help you wash the paint off.”

Most of the paint had already washed away, actually, though it would take actual scrubbing to get it all off. I could already feel myself cringing at the thought. Shame made me duck my head and my stomach curdle. It’s not like it was as bad as before. More of tender and smarting than fresh. Was I really that weak? The fact that the Professor, someone I admired so much, had been around to witness just made it worse.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Professor get a thoughtful look on his face. Then he said, “I’d hate to ask this of you when you’ve barely recovered, but would you mind helping me to my chair, Clara?”

My head snapped up. I stared at him, unable to hide my shock. He smiled, crooked and wry. “I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a fix.”

A little bit of backward crawling let me see the “fix”. Of course the professor had left his wheelchair for the floor just to help me. I couldn’t possibly feel worse. He sat on the cold, tiled floor, the water sticking his shirt to his skin in a way that would be indecent in any other situation. And oh, yeah, of course Clara, ogle him while he’s down and after he just helped you.

I took a deep breath, pressing my hand to my eyes for a moment. _Pull yourself together, dammit!_

Why would he even want my help? He had been in a wheelchair since before I met him, and that was two years ago. Dad _hated_ needing help to get onto his wheelchair, especially from people he didn’t know very well. (Those poor nurses.) It was one of the first things he made sure he could do on his own. The Professor knew how to get on his chair on his own, for sure. How else could he have gotten muscles like-

_DAMMIT._

I glanced at him again. He hadn’t moved, waiting patiently for me to act. His gaze was steady. I knew that look – a look filled with expectation, hope, in a way that made the receiver feel like they could do _anything,_ because he believed they could. He always looked like that whenever he wanted us to figure out something on our own in class.

He knew my dad used a wheelchair too. So it was an easy enough assumption that I knew how to help him up from the floor. But what was the lesson in that? He was on the floor; he wanted my help. He didn’t have to act so vulnerable in front of me, he could get up on his own-

Vulnerable?

I looked down at my hands, a move reminiscent of how I ducked my head before. Because of shame. Shame at my weakness, and the fact that the Professor had to see it. Because he helped me. Oh. What was that saying? Where no one was perfect but we could cover each other’s imperfections?

My body moved on automatic, following moves that had been drummed into my head ever since I was old enough to help around the house. I positioned the Professor’s chair parallel to him. (The controls took a moment to figure out, whew.) Then I crouched down and looped one of his arms around my shoulders, letting him grab the chair arm with the other. Making sure to bend my knees, I slowly helped him up, until he could grab onto the other arm himself. Then I stood by, ready to assist just in case, but let him lift himself the rest of the way up on his own. His clothes made a funny squishy sound against the plastic cushion.

His smile for me afterwards was far too proud for something as simple as helping him up. I ducked my head again, but this time not out of shame. I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips in reply. _Thanks,_ I thought, really hard, hoping he’d hear and I wouldn’t have to do something embarrassing like, I dunno, look him in the eye.

“Professor?” Jean’s voice was soft, hesitant. I jerked, looked to the side. She stood at the door to the showers, glancing at us over her shoulder while she and Kurt held back what looked like a curious crowd outside. Eep.

“Thank you, Jean,” the Professor said, rolling forward. I followed, still feeling a little dazed. I hadn’t even realized she was here too. No, that was wrong. Hadn’t it been her voice I heard earlier?

As if she read my mind (Ha! Maybe she had), Jean gifted me with a small smile. “I sensed what Luke and Jason had planned, but we got there too late to stop it.” She nodded in Kurt’s direction, who was also looking at us now. I smiled weakly at him, just to do something about the worried look on his face. He smiled back, looking relieved. “I had Kurt bring you to the showers, but by then you were already panicking,” Jean continued. There was a small line between her eyebrows as she looked at me.

_Are you okay?_

“I… think I remember.” I tried to smile at her too. “’Only been to the boys’ showers’… right?” Her worry surprised me even as it warmed my heart. Before yesterday, the most interaction we had was passing each other in the hallways and me admiring her from afar. Had she even meant to send that? It had been more of an impression of her worry than an actual question. I tried to send an impression of being fine back.

She winced and put two fingers to her temple.

_No need to be so loud. I can hear you just fine._

Oops. Sorry?

“So that’s why.” The Professor laughed. Kurt’s tail curled in embarrassment. The Professor just smiled at him. “It’s alright, Kurt. It was good of you to get them here so fast. Quick thinking on your part too, Jean. Good work.”

“It was nothing,” Kurt said. If anything, he just looked more embarrassed. There was a pleased arch to his smile though. Jean’s made her cheeks look even rounder.

“ _Clara!_ ”

I had one second to brace myself before Amy barreled into me. “Ow,” I croaked, but submitted to her tight embrace with more than a little relief. Amy hadn’t cleaned up at all. There was paint all the way down to her lap, in little drips I assumed were from her hair.

She was careful not to touch mine.

“Are you okay? It was awful; you started screaming and I had no idea what to do-” When she pulled away, I was surprised to see her eyes were red, and her skin blotchy from crying. I… probably looked just as bad.

“I’m-” not fine. “-better,” I said.

She glanced over my shoulder at the Professor. He gave her a reassuring nod. For some reason, _that’s_ what made her relax, her shoulders dropping just a little bit. I huffed and hugged myself again. So she’d believe the Professor, but not me? There was no bite in the thought, though.

“Why don’t we all go and get cleaned?” he suggested. “I’m sure it’ll take a while.” He motioned at our little gathering. I looked around. He was soaked. Amy was covered in paint. I was soaked _and_ covered in paint. Even Jean and Kurt hadn’t escaped the water; I could see dark splotches on their clothes. They must have turned on the showers the moment we arrived, damn the consequences.

The Professor’s eyes twinkled, letting us in on the joke. I hid a smile behind my hand.

“Sure, Professor,” Amy said, tugging at my hand. She glared at me, her eyebrow raised and expectant. I could almost hear what she was trying to say (mostly because she’s said it before): _Stop making goo goo eyes at the Professor and get moving!_

I glared back, at the same time praying to Jesus no one heard that thought. There were _telepaths_ in the room, for Pete’s sake!

Then the Professor said the words every student dreaded to hear: “Oh, and-” he coughed into his fist. “-please meet me at my office when you’ve finished.”

A heavy feeling of doom crashed down on my head. I gulped, and nodded. Jean bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Yes, Professor,” Amy said, dragging me out of the bathroom. I let her, only because trying to resist would only end in pain and embarrassment. We almost bumped into Dr. McCoy, who finished waving off the last of the crowd that had gathered while we were inside. I stopped, surprised. He gave us a gentle smile.

“Alright now?” he asked. Feeling shy, I pressed my lips together and nodded. Amy’s nod was, of course, a lot more enthusiastic. That pause was enough for Jean to catch up with us, wringing her hair with a slight grimace.

“Where’s Kurt?” I asked, ignoring Amy’s insistent tugs. Jean blinked, her eyes focusing on me.

“Oh.” Her smile turned into something mischievous. “The Professor asked him to, well, ‘escort’ him to his rooms because ‘it wouldn’t do for the children to see me so bedraggled’.” A soft sneeze erupted from within the bathroom. Amy and I turned to look, eyes wide, except there was a loud crack and all that was left was a wisp of smoke.

“That sounds like him.” Dr. McCoy said, his voice wry. We turned our wide-eyed gazes on him. He shrugged. “He’s still recovering from last week’s… events. In more ways than one.” When our expressions didn’t clear of confusion, he actually laughed. There was no malice in it though. There was maybe even a touch of concern. He rubbed the back of his head. “He’s always been conscious of how he looked,” he explained. Looking thoughtful, he added, “It might come from being a telepath.”

Now Jean looked thoughtful too. Dr. McCoy followed my gaze to her, and chuckled. “Or, it might just be the Professor.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Speaking of which, I should go see if the Professor needs any help. And make sure Magneto doesn’t kill off your friends either.” His lips twisted a little at that, making his fangs peek out.

“Magneto?” I repeated. “Friends?” My voice rose to a squeak. “ _Kill?_ ”

“Hank’s just exaggerating. Mr. Lensherr won’t hurt them.” Jean considered for a moment. “Much.” Amy covered her lips, but was unable to stop her laughter from escaping.

“Who is _them?_ ” I resisted the urge to shake them for answers.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Amy said, giggling still. “Now come _on._ I need a bath, like, _yesterday._ ” She stuck her tongue out, spreading an arm for emphasis. “Wet paint feels icky as hell. Dry paint, on the other hand…” She trailed off, letting me fill in the blanks myself. I grimaced. Okay, she got me on that one.

“I… guess I’ll see you guys around,” Jean said, sounding hesitant. She made an awkward little wave, paused, then dropped her hand, looking self-conscious. Her face closed off when she noticed my stare.

“Wait!” I blurted, digging my feet into the carpeted floor before Amy could drag me away.

My mind brought up the lesson the Professor had just taught me earlier. It was okay to rely on other people when there was something you couldn’t do. Wasn’t that what Dr. McCoy had meant too, in a way? When he said this place was a sanctuary, he hadn’t meant we should just tolerate each other. We all needed each other, to work together, in order to keep the school a safe haven. So that everyone had a place where they could feel like home.

Besides, getting more friends was never a bad thing.

I wonder if Jean ever felt at home here, in a place where almost everyone was afraid of her. Come to think of it, hadn’t she spent all her time by herself before Scott and Kurt arrived?

“Aren’t you coming with us?” I asked, spewing out words the moment I thought of them. Jean and Amy stared. Eep. “I’ll… I’ll need help to get everything out of my hair,” I finished lamely.

“Sure.” Jean’s answering smile was beatific, the widest I’d seen from her yet. “I’ll catch up. Just let me change.” She motioned at her soaked outfit.

“R-right!” I stammered, beyond embarrassed now. If my head wasn’t still throbbing from the paint it’d probably be bright red by now.

“Let’s meet in her room,” Amy decided for us. “I have to wash too. Clara can go ahead, since she’ll probably take the longest. Her room is on the third floor, east wing. Third door on the right after the steps.”

“Got it.” Jean waved, more sincerely this time. “See you in a bit.”

We said our goodbyes and parted. Jean headed for her room on the west wing, nearer to the Professor’s. Amy’s and mine were just across the hall from each other, so we walked together. Amy glanced at me, her eyes searching. “That was unusually gutsy of you,” she said at last.

I couldn’t find it in myself to explain it to her. Without sounding like a lunatic at least.

And did she _really_ have to phrase it like that?

* * *

 

 

In the end, it took us the better part of an hour to get all of the paint out of my hair. And this was counting _after_ Amy and Jean went in to help me out. It was easy enough to rub the paint from my skin, though it turned pink from all the scrubbing. My clothes, however, were judged ruined and unsalvageable. I may or may not have cried.

I _did_ cry when we got around to using my inefficient baby shampoo on my hair. The gentle rubs that were my bath time modus operandi weren’t enough to get the stubborn bits of paint off. In the end, Jean had to put me to sleep (Telepaths are SO HANDY.) though she did warn me that I was going to feel everything later.

She wasn’t kidding.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things wind down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit, after sooooooooooooooooooo many yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaars this thing is finally finished. may or may not add some sequels, depending on support. enjoy my indulgent trash baby that turned into a 19k+ world monster. thank you to all the people who supported the fic even still!!

In the end, it took us the better part of an hour to get all of the paint out of my hair. And this was counting _after_ Amy and Jean went in to help me out. It was easy enough to rub the paint from my skin, though it turned pink from all the scrubbing. My clothes, however, were judged ruined and unsalvageable. I may or may not have cried.

I _did_ cry when we got around to using my inefficient baby shampoo on my hair. The gentle rubs that were my bath time modus operandi weren’t enough to get the stubborn bits of paint off. In the end, Jean had to put me to sleep (Telepaths are SO HANDY.) though she did warn me that I was going to feel everything later.

She wasn’t kidding.

I whimpered. Amy, leading me down the stairs to the Professor’s office, rolled her eyes. “Oh shush, you. You asked for it.”

“I did _not_ ,” I grumbled, trying to cradle my head and keep from tripping at the same time.

“Oh, so it wasn’t you whimpering and whining in the shower,” Amy said sarcastically. I gave her an affronted look.

“I was _not_ whining!” I started. “I was-” Her eyes widened, right before I bumped into someone behind me. I squeaked and whirled around.

A tall man with short-cropped hair and a smattering of stubble on his face raised an eyebrow. “Magneto!” My voice rose higher, which was probably a good thing because it meant it came out in a jumble of nonsense instead of, you know, the name of a highly wanted criminal and mutant terrorist? Amy wasn’t any better. I could feel her standing frozen beside me, silent as a tomb.

His gaze landed on my perpetually changing hair and narrowed. I cringed. The only reason I knew it was shifting was the changing length brushing across and past my shoulders, then back again. The rest of my head was just one whole throbbing ache.

“I can’t control it when I’m in pain,” I said hastily, feeling the need to apologize. I had no idea why either.

“Practice,” he said quietly. “You just need to focus.”

I was starting to get a little freaked out. Something in the way his eyes turned hard, as if he wasn’t even looking at me anymore but thinking of something else, made me feel uncomfortable.

“I can’t feel anything from my hair except pain when it’s like this, so I wouldn’t even be able to tell if it’s staying the same color.”

Some of my emotions must have shown on my face, because he visibly shook himself. When he next opened his eyes he looked… softer. More exhausted. “I-” He paused. “Never mind.” His smile wasn’t much of a smile, more like a depreciating flicker on his lips. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

My eyes flicked towards Amy, who looked just as clueless as I did. The flicker turned into a quirk of his lips, then disappeared. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, shifting to go around us.

“Thanks for the advice though,” I blurted, unable to leave it at just that. He looked… awful. Sad, even. There were bags under his eyes, and I had the feeling that, if it were anyone else, they’d be slumped with the weight of… of something. I would have said ‘a thousand anvils,’ but then again, this was the dude who dumped a stadium on the White House lawn no problem, so- “I’ll- I’ll work on it!”

I used to protest all the time when Amy and Carter told me I was too soft, but if my knee-jerk reaction to a sad Magneto was to try to _make the mutant terrorist feel better,_ they probably had a point.

He stared at me for a moment longer, his eyebrows jumping up the only sign of his confusion. I stayed still, not even daring to glance at Amy for reassurance. He just shook his head, and started going up the stairs. “Your friends are waiting downstairs,” was the last thing he said.

At last I deemed it safe to give Amy my most freaked-out-and-confused look yet. “He means Carter,” she said, which wasn’t what I was asking at all, except it reminded me that I hadn’t seen Carter since the paint incident.

“Carter? What happened to Carter?” I asked, feeling even more befuddled. Amy gave me a considering look.

“Damn, you must have been really out of it. It’s not like you to forget Carter,” she said, amused.

Carter saved me the inconvenience of asking what she meant by being where we had been heading the whole time – outside the Professor’s office. He looked up from where he was leaning against the wall with Scott, treating me to the glorious sight of a split lip and a black eye. “Clara, you’re okay!” He ran toward me and hugged me tight, beaming. We winced at the same time.

“Oww, not so loud… wait,” I jerked back, to get a better look at his face. “What happened to _you?_ ”

“Uhh…” He glanced at Amy for help and found none. To my surprise, he tried it with Scott too. Scott just grinned at him. “You should see the other guy?” He reached up to rub the side of his nose, sheepish, but stopped just in time before he hurt himself again.

Amy sniffed in clear disapproval, but I could see the concern in her eyes too. “He went charging after Luke and Jason the moment Jean took you away.”

My head whipped around to Carter so fast it throbbed in complaint. “You _what?_ ”

“I tried to stop him,” Scott said, coming up beside me, his wry tone saying exactly what he felt about his failure. I wasn’t surprised; Carter was _fast_ when he wanted to be. “But then Jason knocked off my glasses.”

I gulped at the image. The rumors about Scott’s mutation and his sunglasses had traveled as fast as the government knocked us out when he got here.

“I got a few good hits in,” Carter said, almost proud, “But then _Magneto_ stepped in.” His voice held that combination of doubt, awe, and fear that us kids usually held when it came to Magneto. We grew up on horror stories of that guy, in conjunction with the desperate awe of the blue mutant whom we now knew as Mystique – or Raven Darkholme. And yet, this was also the guy who, according to rumors (that I could now confirm, oh hey) helped save the Professor from that Egypt incident (or did he wreck the place? Reports varied) _and_ helped Jean rebuild the school. So, there were a lot of conflicted feelings about the guy.

“Somehow they ended up slugging it out in front of his room,” Scott said, shaking his head in disbelief. I heartily agreed. Of all the rooms in the mansion… “I was on the ground groping for my glasses. Next thing I knew, Carter and the others were hanging in the air via candelabra.”

"Somehow," Carter said with a shudder, "He looked scarier without the helmet."

"Only because you pissed him off." Scott elbowed him, hard enough to make Carter teeter in place. Carter just scoffed – winced, because, hey, bruises on the face – and elbowed him back. It looked like the boys had achieved a truce of some sort – was this the "boy thing" books always talked about?

Scott clapped a hand on my shoulder, jarring me out of my thoughts. "You should go on in. The Professor's waiting for you." He squeezed a little. Startled, I looked up at him. There was an odd twist to his lips, but otherwise his expression was as hard to read as ever. Unsure, I nodded instead, trying to smile past the pounding in my head. He smiled back, patted me one last time, and dropped his hand.

“He’s right, you better go in,” Carter said, slinging an arm around me. I yelped at the sudden weight. I caught him trading a look with Scott over my head, but Scott only laughed. I resisted the urge to stare at him.

“ _Boys_.” Amy rolled her eyes and helped me free myself from Carter. He grinned down at me, that slanted grin with the hint of softness that only Carter’s smile had, like he was trying not to smile but couldn’t help himself.

I smiled back. “Thank you for standing up for me.” Then I punched him in the arm for good measure. “But next time you fight someone for me, I will blacken your other eye. I’d rather you don’t get hurt than you do, doing something chivalrous for me.”

His cry of pain cut off into a whimper. Oops. I glared, trying to get my point across. “Gotcha,” he croaked.

"You better." Still a little unsure, I headed for the door. It was only when I reached out for the knob that I realized what Scott had been trying to say – an apology. I whirled around, opening my mouth to say something, but Scott was already laughing at Carter’s suffering, and Amy was shooing me off.

“Come in,” said a voice from inside before I could raise a hand to knock. I bit back a small smile and entered.

On the other side were Luke and Jason, just about to leave. "You should see the other guy," Carter had said. I could see what he meant – considering it had been two against one, and that Magneto had stopped them before they got too far, Carter had gotten some good hits in. Jason was limping, while Luke's cheek was swollen. Both were hunched over in a way that made me think of ouchies on their torsos.

I moved aside, trying to avoid a confrontation, but I shouldn't have bothered. Luke looked far away, frustration and depression warring on his face. He didn't pay any attention to me at all. It was Jason who clipped me with his shoulder, "sorry" falling from his lips like a trash bag. I couldn’t stop my shoulders from sagging with relief as the door shut behind them. My head was still throbbing with the reminder of what they did.

The Professor sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Have a seat, Clara."

I rubbed mine too, commiserating with his pain. He looked concerned, his gaze following me even as I sat down on the couch opposite the one the boys had vacated. “Headache?”

I nodded. “It was either be gentle or get it over with,” I said, grimacing.

His concern morphed into sympathy. “You should visit Dr. McCoy after this. He can give you some medication for that.”

“Thank you,” I said, relief and that familiar, tingly thrill mixing into a heady and confusing emotional cocktail.

The Professor liked to see all of the students individually a few times every year. Students that had powers that affected themselves or others and couldn't be controlled (like Carter), he saw more often. So while I was familiar with the room covered in tasteful shades of brown and expensive wood, I could still take the time to appreciate everything.

This was also the first time I ended up in the Professor's office after he lost his- after the school exploded. Back in a new blazer and shirt, with his wheelchair parked across the low table the couches were positioned around, he seemed as good as new.

He looked different from the man who helped me, drenched in the shower. The firm, solid strength, like a backbone made of steel, that I had sensed from the man walking in my head... was still here, in the man seated across from me. Only quieter.

I smiled up at the Professor, trying to convey my gratefulness without words – because if I started talking I might start babbling and losing my verbal train of thought around _the Professor_ was- just- _nope._

He smiled back, but it didn’t stay long. He returned his hand to his forehead, rubbing his temple. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice heavy. “It wasn’t that I was unaware of the reception you might receive, but I had hoped your common ground as mutants would have nullified that possibility.”

 “Jean said-” I bit my lip. “Jean said Luke was trying to cope with being…” _a freak, “_ …different. So he took it out on me.”

The Professor’s eyes sharpened. “Did you tell him that?”

His reaction was a surprise. A little bewildered, I said, “Um… no? I mean- I told him to leave me alone. I… kinda borrowed her words? I didn’t mention Jean though,” I added, which seemed to be what the Professor was looking for.

He leaned back on his chair, his hands clasped in front of him and looking… tired. “We’re still working on her control.” He took a deep breath. “But she’s right.” He looked at me, with those piercing blue eyes, gentle and sincere and making my heartbeat skyrocket even as every other part of me wanted to melt. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I should have done something sooner.”

I bit back the knee-jerk reaction to say ‘ _It’s fine,’ ‘It’s not your fault,’ ‘I’m okay.’ You deserve a safe space too,_ Jean’s voice said in my head – not literally, I meant I was remembering what she said; god having telepath friends was weird – and that gave me the courage to swallow whatever I wanted to say first.

I looked at my lap, weaving my hands together and apart as I thought. It wasn’t… _fine,_ in the complete sense of the word. But I didn’t- yeah, I _didn’t_ regret it. _Any_ of it, though I could have done without the paint and the flashbacks. Was it _really_ fine? Why?

“It’s okay,” I said at last. I thought of Carter and Amy, then of Jean, Scott, and Kurt. I thought of sitting on the shower floor, dumbstruck as I absorbed a lesson that was so easy to say but so hard to really _know._ “A lot of good stuff happened too.”

I looked up at the Professor and smiled. “It’s okay,” I repeated. And this time, it wasn’t a lie. I felt a bit of wonder at realizing that.

That worried look finally left the Professor’s face. His answering smile was much more sincere than the last one. It made my heart stutter. I wanted to punch myself in the face. “I’m glad,” he said. With a soft huff, he relaxed, a little shift in his shoulders and the way he held his back letting me know. “Is there anything else you would like to talk to me about?"

My stupid, throbbing brain brought up my original problem this morning, before everything went to hell. "Sorry for calling your face stupid," I said, slumping.

The Professor stared at me, long enough to make me start panicking that I had assumed, that he didn't really read minds like dipping fingers in the water on a boat ride (you can ignore the spray but you'll get wet sooner or later). Though, at that thought, at least he wouldn't have any idea about my crush on him-

His eyebrow rose, made more intimidating by the fact that his forehead had expanded. Extremely.

I froze. "You... heard that. Didn't you."

His lips twitched. "I wish I had words of comfort for you..."

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. All my hard work, ruined by a headache and a slip of the... head? Tongue?

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding sincerely apologetic. His eyebrows were doing this complicated thing where he looked like he was fighting not to smile, feeling awkward, amused and consoling at the same time. "I try to keep from reading all but the surface thoughts..."

"It's fine." I'd long accepted my feelings weren't going to be returned; the age gap alone had Carter and Amy teasing me endlessly. I did my best not to let him know and wait for my feelings to fade for the simple fact that it was just going to embarrass both him and me. It was no comfort to be proven right.

I also hoped he got all that, because there was no way I was going to be able to stutter out anything coherent anytime soon. (Mind readers. Convenient. Really!)

He covered his mouth with his hand. It did nothing to hide the fact that he was grinning – though it was interesting to see his ears were turning pink too. (You tend to pay attention to those kinds of things when you can't blush yourself.) "I'm assuming you'd rather take an immediate, dignified exit-" I nodded vigorously, avoiding his eyes while my hair did its darndest to turn bright scarlet, pain notwithstanding. He couldn't stop the short chuckle that escaped this time. "Very well then. I'll see you around, Clara."

"Thanks," I gasped, and darted to the door as fast as I could without outright looking like I was running away. It was the principle of the fact, come on. On the bright side, at least we knew Amy's plan worked, I thought to myself, trying to keep from having a meltdown in the middle of the Professor's office.

Or did we?

My footsteps stuttered. For all I knew, he didn't read minds like dipping his hands into the water. I could have been blabbering in my head for no reason.

I tried to tell my curiosity to go stuff itself into a bag and jump into a river. My curiosity told me to stuff it right back. I shifted weight from foot to foot, forward and back, warring with my embarrassment and my _absolute need to know._

“Is there a problem?” A certain British-accented voice said behind me, that touch of amusement still there. I wavered a moment more, before-

“Does that mean Amy’s plan worked or did you just never notice?” I whirled around and said in one long rush.

His eyebrow rose – a question, not exasperation. And maybe a little bit of that curiosity that was adding to the jitters on my skin as well. “Care to explain?”

So I did. I told him about how I freaked the first time I realized I had a crush on him. How Amy thought of utilizing my multitasking abilities and pretty much making a mess out of my thoughts so he wouldn’t – if he ever did – hear nor understand what I was thinking. How I struggled to keep that up for a couple of weeks until the explosion happened. Somehow I even managed to lump in how we met Jean and the others, and how glad I was it happened, even if it was very embarrassing. By the end of it, I was back on the couch and all talked out, and the Professor was giving me a thoughtful look all over again.

“That’s certainly a creative way of trying to evade mind reading,” he said, bracing his head with a hand. “I’ll admit I noticed you were distracted in class recently, but I thought it was due to the stress you were facing with Luke. You might be able to deter a casual glance with that, but I don’t think it would hold up under prolonged scrutiny and a determined search.”

I was fascinated. “Do you want to try?” We could test that theory, maybe think up of other ways to dance around mind reading-

His blue eyes sharpened, killing whatever I wanted to say next. I swallowed. What did I say now?

But even with that harsh gaze, his voice was gentle. “That’s your mind, Clara. It’s not something to be experimented with.”

“I’m not asking you to change anything,” I said hastily, trying to backtrack without knowing exactly where I was standing. “We could just test what you said, with the actual search and stuff. It’s not like you don’t already know my most embarrassing secret anyway,” I added, feeling heat creep up my face.

His gaze didn’t lose that touch of steel.

_I was talking about interrogation techniques, Clara._

“Oh.”

That gave me the feeling of a sudden cold shower it was intended to. Again I wondered if he was talking from experience, but no, that was stupid, of _course_ he was, otherwise how would he know if it would hold up or not? But then _that_ thought led to wondering where he had learned that. I knew there had been a war which made the school close, so maybe then? But then the Professor had already lost the use of his legs by that point, I knew _that_ much, wait no, stupid, who needs legs to interrogate people when you’re doing it with your _head-_

“Clara.” I snapped back to attention, shooting him a guilty look.

“Um. Sorry. Got lost in my head again.” I tried to laugh it off. His lips quirked, giving me a look that was both amused and _maybe fond-_

I mentally slapped myself.

“I once met a mutant who could shield herself from other telepaths,” he said, his tone light and conversational. “Not only was she a telepath herself, but she could also transform her body completely into diamond. When she was in her diamond form, I couldn’t read her at all.”

 _That_ grabbed my attention. My jaw dropped as I tried to imagine it – a lady, all in diamond – no, made _of_ diamond. Impregnable, mind and body. “Do you know why?” I asked, curling my legs up onto the couch without thinking, as if it was story time.

His eyebrows rose, but his smile widened so I figured it wasn’t a bad thing. “I suppose it's because it's because it turned her mind into diamond as well. I'm not sure if it's a literal transformation, mind," he added, "But it's the only way I can explain it." He rubbed the arms of his wheelchair, his eyes gazing into the distant past. "Diamond has no fear or concerns. It does not plan nor does it ponder. It just _is_. And it perseveres through anything. The moment her fear for her life broke through, so did her shift."

My eyes widened. So he _did_ find a way around it. _Interrogation techniques._ I shivered a little. What would make a woman made of diamond fear for her life? A laser beam, probably. Or maybe sinking her to the bottom of the ocean? The pressure would do her in, right? No, wait, the Professor won't be able to read her mind. Maybe smother her? Would a diamond woman need to breathe?

"That's-" _awesome,_ I wanted to say. Of course, the fact that he had to hurt someone wasn't awesome, but the explanation of it all - _awesome._ I struggled to put my thoughts into words, my mind racing a mile a minute ahead of what I actually wanted to say. It was all lumping together, a mishmash of half-formed sentences, starting then being taken over by the next, all as I attempted to explain. "I mean- I-" A hand covered mine, before I started flailing from lack of words to use and smacked myself in the face or something.

"It's alright," the Professor said, smiling, though there was a bit of distance in his look, like he was only paying half his attention to what was in front of him (me). "I understand." I felt my shoulders sag with relief. Mind readers. _So convenient_.

"Sorry," I said reflexively. Okay, so habits weren't that easy to break. I winced, only for another thought to cross my mind. "Is- is it really that much of a mess?" I blurted. "My mind, I mean." It sure _felt_ like it sometimes, without needing Amy or Carter calling my attention to it. Jean _had_ said something along those lines, and a mind reader's word was damning enough proof.

The Professor was silent long enough that I started twisting my fingers in my lap. My own body curled up, slowly, winding into itself through sheer nerves. And then-

"Clara," the Professor said. I looked up, ready for a verdict. His kind expression didn't help. Much. “Have you ever tested for ADHD?”

I blinked. My mouth moved. Nothing came out. “Uhh… no? I mean-” Was that a disease?

The Professor must have caught the tail end of that thought. He was quick to reassure me. "No, it's not. It means Attention Hyper-Activity Disorder. It means," he said with added emphasis, before I could spiral into a panic, "that your mind works a little differently from everyone else. It does _not_ mean there's something wrong with you."

There was an initial flash of tense shoulders and frozen breath. But my nerves melted a lot faster than I expected.

It’s just. It’s in the name. Attention Hyper-Activity Disorder. I had attention problems. The reason my mind just went through thoughts so fast they lumped together sometimes was because it kept jumping from idea to idea and getting distracted by every little thing. It’s hard to explain, but I just felt – relieved. It could have been worse. It could be a, hah, another mutation.

The Professor seemed to notice my lighter mood. “You don’t seem to be that troubled by this,” he said, lips quirked. He might almost be as relieved as I felt.

“Well…” I paused, trying to think of a way to put all that together. The Professor nodded his encouragement.

“Take your time.”

Relief made me beam at him again. I fiddled with the hem of my shirt, gathering my thoughts. “The thing is,” I said slowly, “I’ve been like this all my life. I guess a part of me knew there was something wrong, something different… but I never really knew what. So I thought it was just-” _me being weird._

My eyes flickered up to the Professor, checking if he heard that. From the way his eyebrows rose, he’s probably been the recipient of those kinds of looks for _years._ I smiled sheepishly.

“I guess it’s just… nice to have a name to it.” I finished with a shrug. “It’s not like it gave me a hard time or anything…” Though, in hindsight, I could relate it to things like losing track of the conversation, or being really forgetful…

The Professor leaned back, resting his cheek on his hand. “You don’t seem to have a very severe case of it,” he allowed. “While yes, you’re easily distracted in class-” He grinned. I covered my face and groaned. Rub it in, why doncha. He coughed. It was too late to hide it was a laugh. “-you catch on quickly, so you don’t get left behind.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m just… glad to know.”

“I’m glad.” His eyes twinkled. He straightened, and wove his hands together thoughtfully. “If you want, I can have a test sent to the school for you to take, just to make sure. We can discuss medication with your parents if necessary…”

All of a sudden, the bell rang, startling us out of our talk. Wait, the dinner bell? “It’s that late?” I blurted.

The Professor chuckled. “Time _does_ pass when we’re having conversations.” That made me laugh, even if just out of surprise. The Professor gestured towards the door. “You better go. There’s just something I have to fix up here.”

I nodded, bouncing to my feet. I made it all the way to the door before hesitating again. “Professor?” I looked back. He glanced up. I smiled shyly. “Thanks.”

His expression softened. “You’re welcome, Clara.”

This time, I really did bolt out. But at least it wasn’t as embarrassing as before.

 

* * *

 

I caught up with Carter and Amy outside the dining hall. “We thought you were never gonna come out,” Amy teased, a wicked, wicked grin on her lips. I raised my hand in front of her face.

“Before you start, he already knows.” Her gasp was worthy of a television drama. I rolled my eyes, but I was embarrassed enough to feel the heat rise to my cheeks. “Also, your theory was, what, 90% off? Whatever.” I pushed past them, ready to get the whole thing behind me.

“Wait, wait, wait, you can’t just leave it at that!” Amy’s voice sounded like she was caught between laughing and pleading. “Details, Clara, _details!”_

“How about we _grab a seat first,”_ Carter said all of a sudden, interrupting Amy’s whining and snagging us both around the shoulders. I yelped, almost falling forward at his weight. “You can grill her tomorrow.” At Amy’s incredulous look, he added defensively, “It’s been a long day, okay? Let it rest!” His ears were bright red.

“ _Thank you.”_ I hugged him around the waist and went for my seat. When I looked up, he was staring at me, stupefied, from halfway across the room. “What happened to grabbing a seat?” I asked with a touch of impatience in my voice. The faster we could put everything in the past the better I would feel.

For some reason, Amy couldn’t stop cackling until the food got served. When I asked Jean if she had any idea why, she just ended up giggling too.

I leaned back on my chair, watching my friends on either side of me talking with our new friends across us. Across the room, the Professor caught my eye, and smiled.

I closed my eyes and let my aching head rest on the back of my chair for a moment, letting the laughter wash over me. At least _some_ people were enjoying dinner.

To be fair, it was a good way to end a terrible day. I’ll just have to think about avoiding death by embarrassment tomorrow.

_Oh, and by the way, Clara-_

My eyes snapped open.

_Don’t forget your assignment the day after tomorrow._

From the sound of it, my friends weren’t the only ones laughing anymore.

I groaned, startling my friends out of their chatter.

How could I escape this now?!

**Author's Note:**

> Flip: "Fucking Little Island People", "Funny Little Island People", among others. Isn't as insulting anymore, since Filipinos abroad apparently use it to refer to each other now. Plus, in a recent advertisement, it has been reused as "Fine Looking Island People".
> 
> Coconut: A black/brown person trying to be white.
> 
> That part with the Vietnam war: Yes, Filipino-Americans served in that war. I'm more worried about the handicapped part. I tried to make it come across as Scott feeling protective and I've read fanfics that mentioned people who pity-love disabled people (number one question: WHY.) but since I don't have any physically disabled friends/relatives I don't know if that was okay, or handled badly, or- _yeah_. Like for my ADKoB fanfic, please please tell me if I got it wrong! Thanks!!
> 
> Fun fact: Filipinos were so attractive (and genteel, I imagine. It's a culture thing) when they migrated abroad that America put down a law forbidding cross-racial marriage. Not only did they accuse them of stealing their women, but they also accused them of stealing their jobs, because Filipinos were willing to work the same hours at cheaper wages. Guess what? We're still doing it now! (Google: outsourcing HAHAHA)
> 
> Ps. Yes, Carter has a crush on Clara. Cheers!


End file.
